Today the sunshine feels like a warm hug. The cold ocean feels like a reset. The quiet alone feels like an old friend.

Today, all things that I’ve needed.

Today, sadness and grief and loneliness are palpable and I’m really not quite sure of why. And I hate not knowing why.

As I write this, I’m sitting on a bluff overlooking ocean, the line of the horizon blurred by the lingering, distant fog gently moving away from the coast. There’s not much out there but the occasional, gentle lapping of a white cap and a sailboat lazily drifting at the will of the inconsistent thrusts of wind. I take a deep inhale and experience emotions welling up in my body as I breathe out.

I made it.

Yesterday I gave myself a hug. A real hug, as if it was coming from someone else holding me, and when I was about to let go, squeezing a little harder because that is what I would do with someone else, so why not give myself the extra love too?

My roommate has a perfectly minimal, slightly faded, image of the ocean cropped in a circle against white matting, in a gold frame hanging on the wall. Thoughtfully penciled beneath is the following quote from Isak Dinesen:

The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea.